


Lingua franca

by crocodile_eat_u



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fem!Martin, Gender Roles, Genderswap, Humor, Misunderstanding, Romance, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodile_eat_u/pseuds/crocodile_eat_u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas may be good at most things, but one thing he certainly doesn't excel at is getting into Martin's knickers. It doesn't stop him from trying though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt- _Somehow, Fem!Martin lets it slip that she's never had an orgasm from oral sex (knowing Fem!Martin's luck, she's probably never had an orgasm from intercourse but she'll only own up to the oral sex)_
> 
>  _Someone, Douglas or Arthur (or for extra filthy, both!) rectifies this._
> 
>  _Repeatedly._
> 
> It's somehow morphed into a monster of epic UST proportions. Bear with me. <3

**Lingua franca**

“Alright then _Marty_ ,” Douglas drawled, much to her annoyance at the appointed nickname, and slight trepidation at what was to come. “Your turn.”

 _Oh god. Oh fucking god. Because this is really what I bloody need now._

He turned to grin at her, eyes glinting, looking as filthily smug as the cat that caught the proverbial canary. Martin bit her lip, chewing on it vigorously as her fingers clenched the controls tightly.

“Don’t call me that Douglas!” He knew she hated it and yet did he let up? No, of course not why would he? This was Douglas Richardson- the very man who seemed to quite literally get off on her misery.

 _Bloody sadist._

 _You know it sister._

 _Oh shut it!_

“My apologies Tina-”

“Douglas!” Oh great. Now she was screeching. _Screeching_ for god’s sake! “Will you please just give it a rest? Only my mum calls me Tina...” And that was unfortunate in itself. Still, it was better than some of the nicknames she was appointed rather unwillingly over the years with, some by her siblings, whom she only reluctantly admitted being related to, and other’s by the prissy teenage girls she couldn’t really understand why she befriended.

But now, Douglas really was taking the biscuit.

He smirked, an eyebrow raised rather loftily. “Oh really? And why’s that?”

Martin coloured, her cheeks blooming a ruddy red. “Oh shut up, you know why!”

“Enlighten me.”

“No.”

“Oh Martin come on!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She really didn’t want to admit that the real reason for her evasiveness at the conversation they had many times before, despite Douglas’ feigned ignorance, was that she hoped to draw it on long enough to distract him from their previous game. Well. She didn’t want to admit it to _him_.

Douglas sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. “Fine. But there’s nothing wrong with having a boy’s name.”

“I know that! And my name is Martine!” she spluttered angrily. That irritatingly knowing smirk appeared and she wanted to slap it right off his smug excuse for a face.

“Ah yes but Captain, it says Martin on all your logbooks.”

“Oh ha, ha aren’t you a clever little boy?” Martin snapped. “What do you want a bloody cookie?”

Douglas grinned. “No not a cookie guy myself, I’ll take a Hobnob if you’ve got one though.”

“Shut up.” Bypassing thoughts on whether Douglas would be missed if she was to somehow kill him and dispose of the body before anyone noticed, she scowled and rolled her eyes.

“Look you know why, they thought I was going to be a boy, I came out with a vagina instead, Dad was as drunk as a fish at the birth certificate signing thingy and never bothered to try and correct it. So now I’m...”

Her fingers tightened again around the consol, the story of just how her bad luck started so early on in life, a little more than just grating. “...So now I’m a Miss Martin Crieff r-rather than Martine or Martina.”

She didn’t quite know why the story pleased Douglas so much, the man seemed to enjoy hearing it even more so than the last time.

“Oh it’s not so bad I suppose,” Douglas reassured with a snigger. “How many Martin’s do you know opposed to Martine’s? At least you’re...” His lips trembled as he stifled a chuckle. “Unique?”

 _That’s it. You’re really going to have to kill this guy one day._

 _Tell me how and I’ll do it._

“Yeah! What about...what about that woman in that film with the famous cast?”

“I fear you may have lost me at that seeing as it’s the description of almost every film out there.”

“No, no that Christmas one! With Colin Firth in it?” _Ah Colin Firth... if ever there was a man..._

“Yes I think I know it.”

“Yes well, the woman in there. Her name’s Martine. Martine McCuteon I think?” She smiled to herself as her eyes floated to Douglas, searching for the much anticipated look of defeat from the man. Instead he raised and eyebrow and rolled his eyes toward her.

“And your point?”

“Oh go away!” Martin scowled, trying hard not to pout. Although why she was not used to it yet, she didn’t know. The discussion had thankfully distracted her from Douglas’ previous request and she was hoping, with some vague assumption that maybe he might have, he had forgotten as well. Sadly, this was, as previously established so resignedly, Douglas Richardson. A man who, once onto the scent of something deliciously pathetic, stopped at nothing to seize it and dangle it over whoever’s poor, unfortunate head it was. And Martin was, unfortunately, his favourite chew toy at the moment.

They spent a minute or two in silence before he mentioned it, before Martin felt her stomach sink low and her heart jump into her throat in a self serving bid to choke her.

“Musings on your name aside, you rather spectacularly dodged the fact that it was your turn didn’t you?” Douglas quipped, smiling pleasantly despite the glint in his eye that couldn’t be described as anything other than evil.

Martin squirmed, her stomach twisting in knots. “My turn for what?” _Play it dumb, yeah he’ll give up eventually._

Of course she knew better than anyone that her plans never worked. Douglas smiled nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair, his cap tilted slightly on his head. She resisted the urge to straighten it, concentrating instead on the altimeters.

“Au contraire ma chérie, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No I don’t. And can you speak in a language I understand?” Only God knew what happened to her when anyone, let alone Douglas and his annoyingly silky voice of sex, spoke in another language to her. Her stomach clenched and she drummed her fingers against the consol, trying to quell her insistent fidgeting.

Douglas sighed heavily. “Martin, stop avoiding it. Unless of course you forfeit? I told you about my most memorable la petite mort. Which you, might I add, lapped up in every interest. And now it’s your turn. What’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had?”

Martin’s cheeks were on fire, the blush slinking down her neck to dip past her collar bones. She wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her whole- well not the ground per se considering they were in the air, but perhaps maybe be tossed out of the plane somehow. Although now that she thought about it, it was rather worrisome and she promptly bushed it aside, hoping karma didn’t hate her that much to actually allow it to happen.

 _Yeah because that’s just what you need right now, a pilot who’s afraid of flying._

 _Shut up!_

“I’m...” she started, faltering slightly. “I’m not answering that.”

“Yes, because that’s a completely unprecedented surprise. And yes you are.” His sarcasm was really beginning to grate on her nerves and she ground her teeth together hard.

“No I’m not. And drop it before I call Arthur in.”

Douglas snorted. “Arthur? And what’s Arthur doing to do?”

Martin smirked rather victoriously. “Bring coffee and play charades.” If there was ever a moment she held in the highest esteem, she quickly bumped it off and replaced it with the one at hand, Douglas’ paled face and darkening eyes both priceless and a triumph to the highest degree. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

The glare Douglas shot her was positively scathing but she ignored it well enough, unwilling to throw the man anything he could have used as leverage against her. And she knew better than anyone that he was looking, oh god was he.

“Martin-”

“I prefer _Martine_.”

“Martin’s on the birth certificate, Martin is what I will call you. And anyway, what difference does it make?”

 _A hell of a difference if you bothered to pay attention_.

She sniffed. There wasn’t a significant difference really, not to herself. Her name did not cause crippling bouts of self esteem or paranoia with gender identity, no of course not. It was just a name after all and in any case, it was the people that were the problem. Despite this however, she didn’t seem to care now as much as she had before, as the hormonal terror she was during puberty. Her name only mattered with work unfortunately, although MJN Air wasn’t necessarily the problem but nevertheless, the _E_ always made that much more of a difference. It was awful to think in such a way but that was how it went.

“Because I’m a girl?” Martin finally answered. “Or are you forgetting that?”

The corner of Douglas’ lip quirked upward in a crooked smile, something small and private Martin wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to understand. “How could I forget Captain?” He turned away, the smile impish when Martin double glanced for good measure. It promised trouble for her, she was certain of that much. “Now back to the question at hand.”

 _Oh bloody hell_. “I already told you, I’m not answering it.”

“And why not?”

“Because...” Martin spluttered, her words tangling on themselves as they fought hard to get out coherently. She was red, her cheeks hot as they burned in embarrassment, a quick, nervous tongue darting out to swipe over paper dry lips. “Because...because it’s incredibly personal! And unethical.”

“Oh you’re going to bring ethics into this are you?” Douglas looked almost pleasantly astonished that she even attempted such a thing. “The originator of the golden question- would you rather have sex with Kermit the frog or Arthur?”

Her cheeks were ablaze by now as she stammered in indignation. “Yes but that was different! That was a...a game not something like this...something _really_ personal-”

“Oh hang it Martin-”

“ _Martine!_ ”

“Martin.” His snort of mirth was irritating at best and Martin barely resisted the urge to bash her head against the consol hard and hope this conversation never happened. “Of course it’s personal, that’s why people tell one another.” Douglas leant toward her, dark eyes twinkling, an eyebrow raised in cool nonchalance as if daring her to find fault in his warped sense of logic. “It’s secretive, positively _naughty_...”

She blinked at him, her stomach twisting, that thing in her chest, her heart she remembered vaguely, skipping a beat or two. Her lips trembled softly as she pressed them tight together, ignoring the flutter in her gut as she shot the man the most contemptuous glare she could muster.

“Naughty or not _First Officer_ ,” Martin spat haughtily. “I’m not answering anything. And you can’t make me.”

Douglas turned away to adjust himself in his seat, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in defeat. Thank god Martin had control. “Fine.”

However before she could come up with a suitably smug comment that would’ve had the First Officer bawling and running off with his tail firmly tucked between his legs _(Oh yeah, because that’s really going to happen)_ , they were interrupted by the customary cheery chirp from Arthur.

“Morning chaps! Or should I say afternoon? It is afternoon isn’t it?”

“I’d say more evening Arthur,” Martin responded, smiling at the man as he wheeled in the much anticipated cheese tray. “It’s nearing four-thirty.”

“Four-thirty?” He tapped his watch. “Yep, I think it’s broken again.”

Martin’s brows pulled into a frown as her eyes switched from Arthur, to the controls, to the cheese tray, her attention torn rather haphazardly between the three. Her stomach growled, hungering for the luxury cheese and cramped in protest as she tried to ignore it. _Back to Arthur_. “How did you break it this time?”

Arthur suddenly looked thoughtful, a resigned sense of amusement on his face that almost made Martin grin. Wistfully, he replied, “Snoopadoop tried to eat it again.”

There was a pensive moment of reflection in the flight deck as Arthur tapped at his watch, Douglas and Martin exchanging dubious glances. Arthur suddenly jerked his head up, exclaiming something about coffee before running off, leaving the other two watching him go with fond exasperation. Martin smiled, chewing on her lip as she stifled laughter, Douglas’ eyes glittering with humour despite his avid fixation with appearing indifferent. He was never one to show any sense of affection, Martin mused, for anything unless it was a tray of assorted cheeses, his Lexus, Finnish Custom smuggle buddies or whoever he had seduced into a shag and/or marriage. It was all the same really, at least, that’s what she thought, albeit rather sullenly.

However gloomy thoughts aside, she focused her attention on the cheeses, her stomach practically on its way to eating itself alive if she didn’t sate it somehow. Martin reached out, barely touching the brie before her hand was promptly slapped away.

“Ah, ah, ah. No cheese for you,” Douglas scolded, tugging the tray toward him. “Naughty little losers don’t get fancy assorted cheeses for their taste buds to enjoy.”

“What?” Martin protested, indignant as she nursed her stinging hand. “Why not?”

“Well I would’ve thought it obvious but I think it might have something to do with the fact that they lost?”

“No, I mean why can’t I have any?”

Douglas picked up the brie, grinning like a Cheshire cat. A Cheshire cat who had somehow found the key to the cream stocked fridge. “Because Marty-”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Because _Martin_ ,” he amended with little apology. “You forfeited. So I win and therefore get the cheese.” He unwrapped the French cheese, smiling wickedly. “Hmmm brie...”

Martin frowned, racking her brains desperately to try and remember just when she, according to Douglas’ so astute and reliable opinion, she forfeited. Unsurprisingly, she came up short.

“I didn’t forfeit!”

Douglas nodded around a mouthful of brie, swallowing before answering. “Yes you did. You refused to answer, you forfeit. No cheese for you Captain.”

“But...But...But-”

“Three excellent objections but I must insist that it’s only fair if I keep the cheese.”

 _That’s not fair at all_ , her stomach screamed, cramping angrily. The soggy piece of toast Martin managed to stuff into her mouth before running out of the door this morning, smiled upon her in vengeance and she almost groaned out loud in frustration. All for a stupid game- It wasn’t even a game! It was Douglas just trying to get his kicks out of her mortification again! How on earth was that a game, let alone something she had even the tiniest possibility of winning?

“Oh for god’s sake Douglas,” She whined. “I can’t believe you’re seriously doing this!”

The man’s dark eyes gleamed as he smiled. “Funny that, because I certainly can.”

A moment passed in terse silence as Martin ground her teeth together, clenching her fingers hard around the consol and biting her blunt, bitten nails into the rubber. Her stomach clenched again, a parched lump forming in her throat as she contemplated whether or not to call Arthur for coffee or just give in and sell her integrity for decent cheese. And although the former option seemed to be the one with the thumbs up, the latter seemed worryingly enticing in her hungry, muddled brain.

 _Don’t do it! He’ll only use it against you! And if he doesn’t do that, he’ll laugh at you!_

 _Oh come on...it can’t be that bad, can it? I could always lie?_

 _You’re rubbish at lying! You get all tongue twisted and blushy and go all cross eyed!_

 _No I don’t! And just look at the cheese!_

 _Don’t. Do. It._

“Oh alright then, what did you want to know?” And she promptly snatched the brie from Douglas’ hand.

 _You’re going to regret this. And when that happens, I’m going to laugh at you._

Douglas glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a small smirk playing at his lips. “I already told you, had ma’am been listening. What was the best sex you’ve ever had?”

It was a wonder how they always almost managed to sidle their way toward such an unholy topic. Perhaps it meant something, a subconscious release to their pent up sexual frustration. Although thinking along that line, Martin had to take into account that for however long her forced celibacy lasted, she was simply beyond the frustration and now treding onto territory of sheer hopelessness. Unlike Douglas who never seemed fazed at all when the topics of romance or sex came up, lingering in the air like cheap, tacky perfume. For a man, and for one as capricious as Douglas, he was surprisingly romantic, Martin thought. The way he spoke of Helena when they were together summed that up perfectly. It would have been sweet had Martin not known Douglas long enough to realise that romance was probably just another ulterior motive to something- a shag probably.

Which once again brought them, or at least her, back to the dreaded topic. Or not so dreaded really when she retired back to her measly attic room, hand slinking away between her legs after a rather long day. But frustratingly irritating nonetheless.

So really, these topics, this one in particular, were not a foolproof method for unwinding all that sexual tension. Maybe they were just ridiculously bored and loved exploiting whatever seedy, private detail they found out about each other. It certainly made more sense in Martin’s head when she put it like that.

Martin grumbled. “I really do wonder why sex is one of those everlasting topics with you.”

“Well you know what they say,” Douglas remarked, a furtive smile twitching onto his face. “You should talk about what you know very, very well.”

Martin shot him a nasty glare. “Who says that?”

“People.”

“What people?”

“You’re avoiding the question again.” The pointed glint of smug amusement was positively irritating at best and Martin gritted her teeth, summoning what little dignity she had left to reach over and grab the emmental from the tray, plucking at the packaging with nervous fingers.

“Yes, yes alright,” she bit out finally, resigning to the fact that coming up with a sufficient enough lie now was probably not the smartest move to make, considering the fact that she could not lie, and that Douglas was watching her like a hawk. A hawk with a grin like a cat, which she would never have thought possible. But it was Douglas Richardson and if he did anything with as much zeal as he had ensuring lady luck stayed sated and content in his bed, it was proving Martin wrong. Those were, she realised with a sense of mild contempt, his favourite pastimes.

Thus she was left with the awful conclusion that maybe, perhaps, almost certainly, she would be forced, as much as it went against her volition, to tell the god awful truth.

The truth that some of the best orgasms she had, and even that was stretching it a bit for they were more like mild rumbles than screaming bouts of ecstasy, were by her own hand.

“I...” Martin started, feeling like a canary caught between the cat’s paws.

“In your own time Martin.” Douglas really was enjoying this, the smug bastard.

“Alright!” She tore the packet off the emmental and tore a piece off, stuffing it in her mouth quickly. Hopefully it would buy her some time.

 _Think, think! What do I say?_

 _Hey you got yourself in this. I’m not helping you now. And I hope that emmental tastes bloody amazing because it was bought at the price of you dignity!_

 _Oh shut up!_

“I don’t...” she finally began, swallowing hard. “I mean I haven’t...”

Douglas’ eyes shot open. “Wait- Are you telling me you’ve never had sex before?”

“No, no, no!” Martin quickly amended, her cheeks burning. “No of course not- No I mean of course I have! I’ve had sex before! Course I have...” She trailed off in a nervous laugh. “Many times in fact.”

Which was of course a lie. She could count the times on one hand.

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “Right. Good for you.”

“Yes...yes indeed.” After a moment of awkward silence however, and tremendously awkward it must have been as they both gaped for words like washed up fish, Martin snapped under the tension. “Alright look...I’ve had sex...It’s just...they were...” She fumbled for words, grasping uselessly as her cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Ok?”

Douglas looked blank for a moment, his eyebrows raised, no doubt a snarky comment poised on his lips. “That bad hmm?” He made a small choking sound, trying to mask the bubble of laughter lest he collapse completely into mirth.

Martin scowled. “No! It was alright! Just...” She shrugged averting her gaze again. “Some parts were better than others.”

“Well how much have you exactly done then?”

She allowed herself an obligatory moment of indignation. “Douglas I can’t answer that! It’s private!”

“And you pick this particular moment to be scrupulously fickle about your privacy issues, why?”

“Because....Because...” In truth there wasn’t much to tell in the first place. Why she managed to worm herself in this position, she would never know, perhaps she was merely a masochist in the making. That or she pressed the self destruct button without realising. “Just because.”

“Martin.” Douglas frowned, his lips a little pinched as she evaded the answer. By now he was probably agitated. But Douglas Richardson was never agitated, never fazed remotely by anything. Why should this have been any different?

“Look...”She eventually sighed, turning back to the controls, her appetite lost. There seemed to be no bigger bitch than irony itself. “It’s just....I haven’t really...you know...” Her cheeks flushed heavily, the colour seeping into pasty skin, nerves a little skittish. “ _You know_...”

Douglas’ face softened a little as the momentary itch of irritation left, much to Martin’s odd sense of relief. “As much as you think I know Captain,” he drawled. “I don’t actually know.”

 _Oh you idiot._

“No...”Martin started, worrying her lip slightly as she squirmed under his gaze. “You do actually know...” Maybe if she looked a little more pointed, made a few gestures, the penny might’ve dropped. Although she didn’t quite know why she wanted the penny to drop. The penny was quite happily resting somewhere above Douglas’ head; he didn’t really have to know did he?

Unfortunately however, the metaphorical penny not only dropped, it landed perfectly in Douglas’ hand. His eyes widened a little as realisation dawned. “Oh. _Ohhh_...” He made a small clicking noise in the back of his throat, lips twitching as they fought not to curl into a grin. “Right. Ok.”

“Oh save it please.” If GERT-I chose this particular moment to crash, well it wouldn’t have been the worst thing. Instead however, it stayed perfectly in flight and Martin was left now with a rolling stomach and a First Officer who looked frighteningly, as Carolyn so eloquently stated, like a cat that just learned how to use a can opener.

“No, no, no...” Douglas shook his head. “Perfectly fine.”

Martin’s patience snapped. “You and I know it’s not perfectly fine! How on earth is it perfectly fine? I must be the only bloody women in the entire history of the world, aside from nuns, who’s never had a bloody orgasm during sex! Honestly you’d think with all the effort you have to go through you’d at least get something out of it! But do you? No of course bloody not! Men-” She turned and pointed at Douglas accusingly. “And women for that matter, are complete rubbish. Lie back and think of England- Pah, it’s all bollocks.”

There was an odd moment of silence, an almost perfunctory aftermath to Martin’s outburst. Douglas looked a little pained; biting his lip to stop them from curling into the grin Martin could see spilling out from the sides. She sighed and turned away, fiddling with the controls, calculating the length of time she would have had to endure of this torture before they landed.

In the end though, the silence ebbed away slowly, Douglas breaking it with a slight cough. “You know, I don’t actually think nuns have sex at all.” He made a small choking noise, coughing back the laugh that bubbled to the surface. Martin groaned and knocked her head against the control.

“Oh you know what I mean.”

And unfortunately, Douglas did. He smiled at her, his eyes softened around the edges, lips tilted in a small token of sympathy. “I must ask though in all seriousness, has it always been that bad?” He sounded almost disbelieving and Martin wanted to hug that little notch of naivety toward the train wreck that was her sex life and give it a cookie.

“More or less,” she sighed, fiddling with her nails, the red nail polish she had indulged in chipping away to reveal her ragged cuticles and bitten skin. “Some of it was alright...ish.”

“Ish? Martin, ish isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“It’s better than nothing though.” There was one time though; she had honestly thought it was leading somewhere, tiptoeing toward that peaking edge, closer and closer until Rob decided to break out his version of dirty talk. And then it suddenly wasn’t very sexy anymore and that edge fell away as if it didn’t exist. “Sometimes I thought...you know...it was going somewhere and it didn’t.”

Douglas made a tutting noise. “Poor you.”

“Oh shush you,” she grumbled. “My first girlfriend, well she wasn’t really a girlfriend now that I think about it, said doing that thing...” Martin gestured vaguely toward her mouth, eyebrows raised as if hoping some sort of vivid eye and hand movement could convey what she was on about. “You know...”

Douglas looked a little lost and she threw her hands up in defeat. “With your mouth!”

“Oh!” Realisation kicked in and his eyes flashed impishly. “Ah going downtown, diving for pearls-”

“Yes thank you Douglas,” Martin spluttered, mortified. “Anyway she said, you know doing _that_ , was really...uhm good and would work for sure.”

Douglas’ smile flickered around the edges, wearing that expression of exasperated sympathy. Martin didn’t exactly know why divulging this information seemed like a good idea at the time, it certainly wasn’t by any means, but now that she was doing it, she was past the point of no return. The First Officer raised both eyebrows in gesture to continue.

“And was it as good as she claimed?” He enquired politely, as if their discussion had absolutely nothing to do with lady bits at all.

Martin pursed her lips. “No not really. However considering I’ve only had that done the once, I don’t think I’ve much to go on really.”

 _You haven’t got much to go on with anything._

 _Why are you still here?_

 _Good cheese was it?_

 _Yes thank you._

They sat in relatively comfortable silence as Martin waged a war with her insufferable consciousness. Arthur popped in and out to drop off lukewarm coffee, having forgotten about it in the kitchen while he spent the better half of forty minutes fiddling with his watch. Martin took a gulp, grimacing slightly before setting it down, focusing all attention on the flight, and most certainly not on the small, interesting looks Douglas was shooting her when he thought she wasn’t looking. No. No she was definitely not thinking about that.

 _Sure you aren’t. Neither are you thinking about that chocolate sex voice of his._

 _Chocolate sex voice?_

 _Yes, it’s like sex dipped in chocolate. Or the other way around. It doesn’t really matter either way really._

 _But it’s Douglas! That’s just- That’s just..._

“You know Marty-”

“Douglas!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he amended, his smirk a complete contrast to his apology. “You know Martin, I’ve been told that I’m quite the cunning linguist.”

Martin blinked as she processed this, unable to hold back the sudden snort as she burst into a fit of giggles. “A what? My god Douglas that has to be the worst euphemism I’ve ever heard!”

The man looked affronted but the curve of his mouth told otherwise. “I have you know I think it’s quite sophisticated. Get it? Because it’s a play on the word cunnili-”

She waved the sarcasm off, feeling a little giddy from her outburst as they grinned at each other. “Yes, yes Professor Richardson I understand. And I should care for your linguistic skills why?”

“Ah well you see Martin, not only do I have an impeccable grasp of the English language,” he drawled salaciously, smirking at the other. “But I can also guarantee that my linguistic skills are also in tiptop shape. Just thought I’d let you know.”

She blinked at Douglas, who did nothing but smile nonchalantly, his eyes firmly affixed ahead of him.

 _Did he just-_

 _No. No he didn’t._

 _I think he did._

“Right...” Martin replied, blinking rapidly as she cleared her throat. Her stomach clenched as her insides bloomed with heat, making her squirm slightly. That wasn’t a good sign. Not at all. “I’ll keep that in mind?”

Douglas smiled, fingers drumming lightly against the consol as his eyes slid over to her, those impossibly dark eyes meticulously blank, unreadable. “You do that.”

She swallowed. “I will.”

“Good.” And he turned away, the conversation ending. Martin stared at the her chipped nail polish, feeling a little dazed as the image of Douglas putting his linguistic skills to good use on a beautiful woman he seduced came to mind, her perfectly manicured nails scratching through his hair, clutching hard as he licked her open-

 _Oh god. Oh my bloody-_

“A little party trick I learnt as well,” Douglas commented wryly, unaware of interrupting the sudden bust of calamity within Martin’s mind.

“What’s that?” she replied weakly, her nails biting into the consol.

“Find me a cherry stem and I’ll show you.”

 _Oh fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

To say things had become a little awkward after their conversation would have been a grave and certainly misunderstood understatement. Misunderstood in the simple fact that the severity of the proclamation was completely one sided. Unless of course Douglas was lying, or pretending things weren’t awkward at all. Which they were, they most certainly bloody well were.

At least, that was in Martin’s most platonic and objective opinion. However were she a little subjective about this whole scenario, which she undoubtedly was, then her opinion would have stemmed toward the fact that Douglas was a sneaky little bugger. A sneaky little bugger who had implanted the dreaded seed of attraction in her mind.

But she wasn’t attracted to him. No. No she wasn’t. God no.

No.

 _No I’m not. I most definitely am not._

Aesthetically perhaps; Douglas was the type of man to sweep any woman off her feet when he could be bothered. No man was blessed with a voice like that and did not know how to use it to his full advantage. But Martin wasn’t just any woman. She was his colleague, his Captain. And she was by far nowhere close to the type of woman he would have normally gone for. He was playing with her, toying with her mind because he could be a bastard like that.

It was nothing though. Absolutely nothing.

She only wished she believed it.

Three days later, she was no more closer to discarding the image of Douglas burying his face in between another woman’s legs, than she was convincing herself that it wasn’t in the slightest way, a little arousing. Things then became a little distracting when the hazy, vague image of the woman disappeared and Martin was left looking down, seeing a rather smug, smirking First Officer licking his lips salaciously.

Needless to say, she wished now, more than ever, that their conversation never took place.

That wish, however, soon morphed into a warped sense of hopelessness when was squashed between Douglas and Arthur at dinner, her legs pressed tight together as to avoid as much contact as she could from the First Officer. They quivered with tension but she held tight, ignoring the tiny shivers vibrating beneath her skin when he would accidently brush their fingers together, or when his knee bumped against hers. _Christ_. It was nothing short of pure torture. And she was damn well sure the bloody sadist knew it.

 _This is your fault! You know that don’t you?_

 _Oh will you please bugger off?_

“What’s the matter Skip?” Arthur asked, interrupting the suddenly vicious train of thought trailing through her mind. Her thoughts seemed to grow more volatile by the hour, sharp, pointed barbs cutting right through her walls, her comfort. She was almost relived that Arthur had picked that moment to intrude in on her private battle, blissfully ignorant of his actions. _God how pathetic is that?_ She mused miserably. _Honestly._

“Huh? Oh no, nothing.” She forced the smile onto her face, silently wishing she could escape to the hotel bar and drink herself into a stupor with a series of bright and sickeningly colourful cocktails. And what a way to go that would have been. “I’m fine, thank you Arthur.”

“Tokyo’s brilliant isn’t it?”

Carolyn rolled her eyes, gesturing to the waiter for more sake. “Anything with bright lights and those funny looking cartoons you like is ‘brilliant’.”

“Mum! They’re not cartoons, it’s called Anime!”

By then though Martin was lost to thought, twirling her chopsticks in circles as she glared down at her makizushi. Douglas had remained passive but she could feel his attention on her, his eyes burning holes into the side of her face.

“You alright Martin?” he finally inquired after a moment. “You’re looking rather... gloopy.”

“Gloopy’s not a word,” Martin replied without thought, frowning at him. Her heart began throbbing, an aching contusion on the muscle tender whenever the thought of the man arose. She tried to ignore it though, swallowing past the lump in her throat as he stared at her with those dark, dark eyes. Martin hated those eyes, hated the way they seemed endless, so thoughtful yet impossible to glimpse a shred of genuine sincerity. _I hate them. I hate how nice they look- even now._ And Christ was it hard to breathe.

 _Shit._ She bit her lip and quickly turned away, fingering her chopsticks as she attempted to grasp the makizushi roll with as much decorum as she could muster without drawing any unwanted attention. But she was no expert, entirely unlike Mr Richardson (the bastard an expert in just about anything he did) and a good sense of etiquette when it came to Japanese cuisine was something she just hadn’t the money, or time to partake in. The evidence was prominent when Martin grasped the roll tight enough to bring it to her mouth, before losing her clutch and letting it fall. She was rapidly beginning to hate chopsticks. It was just another thing to add to the growing list of things she couldn’t quite do as well as Douglas Richardson.

“Here.” There was a gentle pressure against her hands, careful fingers uncurling hers from around the wooden sticks. Douglas positioned them, pressing Martin’s fingers in position, and when his thumb pressed against the soft skin on the inside of her ring finger, she shivered, thighs quaking beneath the table. She failed to register his hands leaving, moving to grip his own chopsticks, clicking them together as he gripped them with ease. The hairs on her arm rose, a gentle hum thrumming beneath her skin, dancing in her blood as leant closer. “Look, it’s easy,” he murmured, reaching down and gripping the roll before bringing it to the rather startled Martin’s lips. She refused to look at the sticks, refused to think of them sucked between his lips, licked clean with his tongue-

 _What are you doing? Stop it now! Cease and desist!_

All thought seemed to suddenly disperse as she blinked at Douglas, his impossibly dark eyes pinned to her. Everything died down, slow and quiet as the distractions fled and she was left staring at the one man she did not, at all, in whatever way possible...

 _Want..._

Douglas’ lips twitched slightly, a faint smudge of a smile, before he murmured- “Open up.” And as she hastened to comply, without a thought toward it, Martin realised with a dawning sense of dread that maybe that seed of attraction was there all along, and that maybe, just maybe, Douglas had planted a completely different seed entirely.

He fed her the roll, pushing it gently between her parted lips and into her mouth, the tang of soy sauce kicking her rather sharply back into reality. And suddenly the rush of memory, of consciousness flooded back with vengeance, screaming in a litany at the front of her mind.

 _What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing/I didn’t do it he did it!/It’s Douglas though!/Oh for god’s sake, don’t say you’re in love with him/God no! Nonononono I don’t love him/how could I love him?/I don’t. No._

 _No I don’t. He’s just playing. He’s buggering my mind._

 _Oh yes, because your mind is exactly what you’d want him to be buggering._

She swallowed hard, her throat constricting tightly as she fought desperately to switch her thoughts off. A button, a dial, a bloody bomb, anything to shut that voice up long enough so Martin could think- could consider her actions and think of a suitable way to leave without running off in hysterics.

Hysteria was close though, too close for comfort and she could feel the rolling waves of panic boil beneath her skin, a deep punch in her gut as her heart throbbed in her throat and her lungs threatened to implode.

“E-excuse me...” Her voice wavered as she rose quickly to her feet, pitch high. “I need the uh...loo... to pee...”

 _Oh god shut up, shut up, shut up!_

She stumbled out of their booth, ignoring the burning stares from behind her as she scurried away as fast as she could. Her heart pounded as it expanded with every throb in her throat, making every crawling, sparse breath ache. The door to the bathroom slammed open and she rushed in, forcing the urge to hyperventilate down as she leaned against one of the sinks.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Martin whispered after a moment, staring at her reflection as she contemplated her actions. However for the first time that night, her mind quietened; peacefully blank as she searched desperately for an answer.

To say the least, it was a tad worrying.

What on earth was she doing? Or to rephrase that, what on earth was Douglas doing? And in front of Carolyn and Arthur no less. She spared a nervous thought toward them, praying hard that Carolyn’s hawkish gaze did not descend anywhere near them while Douglas fondled with her chopsticks. Christ that did not sound good at all.

 _You don’t say._

What was she going to do? She couldn’t very well hide in the bathroom all night and just hope in passing, that Douglas would decide to leave on his own accord. And why on earth was it this bad? Three days ago discussion occurred, three days! That blasted, good for nothing, secret spilling, bloody conversation worth absolutely fuck all. Three days and already he was making eyes at her, that hard, aching stare burying under her skin, making her knees tremble. It was too fast. Way too soon for comfort, although really, she herself could not talk. Here she was hiding in the bathroom, her mind swamped with thoughts of him, her fingers still tingling from his touch.

Yes, Martin was attracted to him. Fine. What woman wasn’t? But she had no plans, now or six months down the line, to do anything about it. It was just there, just a shred, a glimpse of...of whatever it was. Attraction, chemistry, this strange but alluring pull toward him. All that, however, was immediately seized and stuffed in a tiny box in the back of her mind to gather dust, when she realised just what type of man he was. A womanising, smooth talking, charmer who could seduce the knickers off of any woman.

But no. No.

No.

No, Martin wasn’t going to let him get to her. Not now. She was better than that. She could do better than Douglas Richardson.

She’s lasted just fine over the years they’d worked together. She would be fine now.

Martin sighed heavily and adjusted her clothes, smoothing out a stray lock of her ginger curls and tucking behind ear. It had been short for a while now, maybe a change in image was good. Something to stir things up a bit.

 _What are you going to do, get a wig?_

 _No...maybe I’ll grow my hair._

 _You’ve been saying that three years and you still get it cut._

Arguing with her conscience was probably not the smartest thing to do right now, considering how messy it could get, and she sucked in a deep breath to prepare herself.

“Righteo, we can do this,” Martin muttered, silently thankful the bathroom was empty. That would have been the last thing she needed, to be seen desperate _and_ mad. She geared herself up, grinning a little stupidly. “No, seriously, we can do this. We can. We can, we don’t need him. No we don’t.”

 _I can do this. I can do this._

Martin stepped out of the bathroom, scanning the room before her eyes fell on her table, Carolyn delving into another glass of sake, Arthur chatting aimlessly to her and Douglas-

Douglas did nothing but stare at her, his head balanced on one hand, sucking briefly on the end of one chopstick before twirling it between his fingers. His eyes glinted, coolly interested, pinned solely to Martin as if she was something new, something completely and wholly fascinating...

 _God._

Martin swallowed hard.

 _I can’t do this._

“Everything alright Martin?” The customary arched eyebrow was in play, a faint smidgen of amusement in Douglas’ lips as they twitched upon her arrival. With great difficult however, she ignored him and reached over to grab her bag, barely, and rather gallantly she thought, resisting the urge to ram her elbow in his side.

“Yes, I’m just feeling a little sick-”

“Sick?!” Carolyn hiccupped, glaring somewhat murderously at Martin, half with actual feeling, half fuelled with potent, but nevertheless appealing, alcoholic rice beverages. “Pilots don’t get sick! At least my pilots don’t!”

Douglas snorted. “That’s because you won’t let us.” He averted his eyes to Martin, who was trying, albeit uselessly, to edge slowly away, hoping for a swift and painless exit. She should have known better really. “And where, pray tell, are you going?”

“Oh...urhm well I thought I’d just head back to the hotel. I think it’s all that sake-”

“But you didn’t have any skip,” Arthur pointed out, uncharacteristically observant.

 _Damn_. “Fish then. It’s all that fish-”

“But we’re in a sushi bar!” Carolyn was frowning drunkenly, her words slurred as her sense swam in sake.

Bloody hell, what was this, the Spanish inquisition? “Look, I just feel sick! It must be jetlag.”

Douglas raised his eyebrows as he fought not to laugh. “Jetlag. You do remember you’re a pilot, don’t you?”

 _Oh for god’s sake!_

“I just...I just don’t feel very well,” Martin said, fiddling idly with her bag. “I’m going to head back to the hotel, if that’s ok.”

She took Carolyn’s indecipherable murmur as acquiescence, the woman waving her away dismissively, and attempted to head off, inwardly sighing with relief. Respite however, came too soon, for the moment she peeled her eyes away to leave, she was barred with an offending hand to her elbow.

“I’ll walk with you.” Douglas rose from his seat after placing a few notes onto the table, his palm firm and heavy against her arm. Martin could only just repress the shiver humming beneath her skin, vibrating as the hairs on her arm bristled, goosebumps prickling against her freckled flesh.

She smiled tightly and tugged her arm away as politely as she could. Although politeness itself was stretching things a bit. “No, no it’s fine, I know my way there.”

 _No you don’t._

 _Shush you._

“I’m sure you do. And so do I. So let’s go together. We are after all, staying at the same hotel.”

Martin could feel her cheeks flush in embarrassment as she attempted a rather meagre protest. “B-but what about Carolyn?” Wonderful, she was stammering. Could this night get any worse?

They both spared a glance toward Carolyn, who was giggling, honest to god giggling, at something Arthur had said. It was certainly a sight and Martin winced at the thought of the impending hangover for the woman. _Poor sod._

“I think Arthur will be just fine with her.” Douglas turned back toward her, steering them both toward the door. “Shall we?”

“Oh god, I forgot to pay-”

“Quite alright Martin, I covered it.”

“You did what?” He paid for her? No, no, no- she couldn’t have that. Certainly not. That was just the first stage in his evil scheme to charm his way between her legs. And it wasn’t working. Not at all. Nope. “No Douglas, it’s fine- you don’t have to.”

“Martin, if I may quote the rather immortal words of a man quite similar to myself in almost nothing but name, don’t panic. Its fine, the bill is covered.” He smiled at her, although it was not entirely reassuring. More wolfish, if Martin felt the need to discern the meaning. “Now can we go?”

She realised a moment later that they had, in fact, already left the restaurant. Douglas had a way of doing that, distracting Martin with the masterful way he commanded words, handling them with such dexterity and ease it would have been almost admirable, had he anything nice to say for once toward her. He was an illusionist, the pied piper of linguistics.

It was nothing short of commendable, but nonetheless intensely irritating.

Especially considering Martin could barely even control her mouth, stuttering and stammering under the faintest hints of pressure.

 _Bet Douglas is good with his mouth in other things as well._

 _Hmmm.....No! No, no stop it!_

She clutched her bag, feeling her body wind tighter with every passing second, tension weaving through her spine as she curled in on herself, away from Douglas. They walked in terse silence, the hotel thankfully not more than a few brightly lit streets away. They bypassed the busy night time bustle of people, residents scurrying to and fro, Tokyo’s luminous lights glowing in the black sky almost ethereally. Had Martin paid more attention rather than brood on her own inner turmoil concerning the man beside her, Japan might have held more promise in her eyes. Sadly though, if one of the world’s most esteemed cities couldn’t distract her, nothing would.

They finally reached the hotel, stepping into the lobby with muted footsteps as the cacophony of chatter surrounded them. Martin eyed the bar with interest, contemplating whether indulging herself with an assortment of frighteningly bright cocktails might do her predicament some good, or just make the situation that tad bit worse. Perhaps even shed a little much needed, drunken perspective on the situation. However judging by the rather pointed look Douglas eyed her with, the decision was instantly taken from her hands. Her shoulders slumped and she averted her gaze from the tempting pull of the bar and followed Douglas toward the lift.

“Still feeling under the whether Martin?” The man mentioned, studying the lift buttons disinterestedly. The smug bastard was getting a dig in, she could sense it and inwardly kicked herself for ever getting herself in such a position.

“Yes,” she replied promptly. “I think I’m going to head to bed. Might clear it off by tomorrow.” They stepped out of the lift, heading toward their rooms which were conveniently, or unfortunately depending on your standpoint, opposite each other. Carolyn was certainly an astute little spark and Martin couldn’t help but feel that on some level, the woman knew exactly what she was doing when she booked the accommodation. That or Martin’s luck really was that awful.

She stood in front of her haggard looking door, wondering vaguely where Carolyn found these places. The lock was looking particularly worse for wear, rattling as she dug for her key card and swiped it, the card reader jiggling a little as it weakly lit up in approval. A bit like herself she reckoned sadly.

Douglas was watching her silently, his dark gaze pinned to her, observing as Martin opened the door, her hand tightening around the door handle as her throat bobbed softly.

“Right...” Martin started weakly, her gaze flittering nervously to him, unable to meet his eyes directly. She stared at his shoulder, just above it at some point beyond him, her stomach tightening in knots as the quiet tension thrummed like a taut bowstring, plucked at with nervous, amateur fingers. “So...good night I suppose?”

She expected for him to greet her goodnight, for them both to go their separate ways and leave the frustrating, albeit not wholly unwanted, tension between them for another day.

“Martin, look at me.”

That, she could say, hand on heart, she did not expect.

Martin’s gaze wavered, resisting futilely, before she raised it to his, meeting his placid brown eyes. “Yes?”

“I don’t think you’ve looked at me properly all night,” Douglas murmured, leaning forward a tad. Martin pressed herself against the door, trying to keep a respectable, or as respectable as they could get, distance between them before Douglas placed his hand on the handle and pushed down, Martin falling back into her room with a startled yelp. He caught her in time, steadying the woman, and stepped in fluidly, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his slow burning gaze fastened to her.

“Douglas what are you-”

“For once Captain, it might do you some favours to be quiet.” He grinned and gently took hold of her shoulders, manoeuvring them so she was backed against the door, her head tilted up toward him.

 _Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._

What was he doing? No, no they couldn’t- they shouldn’t-

But when his eyes sparked, glinting darkly down at her, impossibly deep until she thought she’d almost lose herself in them, she felt the impending protest die wordlessly on her lips. Douglas had reached in somehow and took hold of her lungs, holding them carefully in his hands, cutting off all possibility of coherent speech. Martin felt her shoulder blades dig into the door, the handle nudging against her hip as he ducked closer, his lips twitching into a soft smirk.

“You know, my previous offer still stands.” Was it her, or was the room getting unbelievably warm?

“What offer?”

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “I fail to believe you’ve forgotten about our little conversation.”

Martin coughed. “No I haven’t. But I’ve chosen to ignore it.”

There was a moment, a quick, brief stint in time, where Martin was almost certain she could read the man’s face. The shadowing in his eyes as he lowered them, the twitch of that smirk. Subtle signs, some many wouldn’t have been able to spot, too busy falling for the man’s charms to realise this was perhaps all just an elaborate and extremely well planned game, to which Douglas Richardson was almost always the victor. But she had seen it, saw it swimming in the man’s eyes, and it frightened her a little, how familiar it was to Douglas to turn on his charms, to seduce. She hadn’t realised how precise he was before, how meticulous everything was, from the small gestures of his hands, to the light in his eyes.

Douglas Richardson was now well immersed in seduction mode.

“Well maybe,” He rumbled, voice low and inviting as it ghost across her neck, danced on her skin. “You need some persuasion?”

He leant forward, gentle fingers moving up to cup just under Martin’s chin as he tilted her head up, lips brushing in an almost teasing caress. But it was that moment, that one sparking moment where skin met skin, that realisation struck Martin hard, rattling in her empty head and stealing the breath right out of her lungs. She couldn’t do this. No- not like this. She couldn’t- wouldn’t be one of his meagre conquests.

“No!” Martin gasped. It took all her strength and resolve to place her palms squarely on his chest and push. She could faintly feel the thump of his heart beneath her hand, warm beneath her fingers and if the situation wasn’t as disastrous as the two could make it, it would have appeared strangely romantic to any third party watching. But the mere idea of a third party in on their little tragedy was a worrying thought indeed.

Douglas’ brow pulled together in a bemused frown. “What’s wrong?”

Martin squeezed her eyes shut, brows pinching as she rubbed her face in frustration. “I’m not doing this with you,” She finally hissed, furious with both him and herself for ever allowing herself to be caught in such a precarious position. But how many women could refuse eyes like that? Or even that voice?

 _God that voice..._

 _No!_

“Why what’s wrong?”

She cracked her eyes open, the heavy sigh leaving her lips before she could stop it. “You. And me....just...just- Look.” She groped for thought, for the right explanation that could best convey what she was feeling. It was a mess really, a cacophony of jumbled words, half garbed excuses and explanations, scenarios forming with panicked speed before written off and discarded. In the end, she surmised with some trepidation, honesty was probably going to be the best option.

If the not the most difficult.

 _Can’t we just lie and leave?_

 _No, shut up._

“Look...”Martin started, albeit weakly. “You can’t just do this to me...with your words and whatnot. I’m...I’m your Captain- You can’t....you can’t _seduce_ me-”

Douglas barked out a short laugh, backing away. “Ah I should have known status would come into this.”

“No that’s not what I meant-”

“You really picked a time to bring your poorly perceived views of professionalism in this haven’t you Martin? Or is it _Captain_?” Douglas was sneering and that was not good. Not one bit. He was irritated, _angry._

Why was he angry? He had no bloody right to be angry. It was the sod’s fault they were in this mess in the first place. If anything, Martin was the one who should have been angry.

And she was. Rightly so.

However whenever she was angry, burning with such fury it frightened her, things became a little warped. Confusion and frustration mixing into a volatile concoction bursting forth in screeching exclaims over topics far from the actual crux of the problem. In this case, Martin could not even begin to fathom what it was she specifically wanted to say. So much floated through her head, tangling with the pesky emotions that tangled with the dilemma.

And it didn’t help that Douglas was quite thoroughly irritated, his demeanour outwardly calm notwithstanding the fury blazing in those dark eyes.

“It’s not about status,” Martin faltered, fumbling for words. “Of course it bloody isn’t. It’s...it’s about this...this- this _thing_ -” She gestured wildly between them, voice wavering.

“Thing?” Douglas quipped archly, almost mockingly. Martin felt her stomach drop, eyes narrowing in frustration.

“Yes this thing. This non-existent thing between us. There’s nothing there, at all and you’re doing that- with the kissing and the chopsticks and-”

She could see Douglas’ hackles rise, his shoulders squaring. “Non-existent? You think there’s nothing there?”

“There isn’t!”

Douglas rubbed his mouth, his lips pulling into a rather vicious smirk. “And you believe that do you?” he drawled. “Quite thoroughly believe it? Whether you want to or not Martin, there’s something here. You just can’t accept it because of that damnable pride of yours.”

“Pride?” She echoed hollowly, feeling her heart stutter. “My pride is what’s stopping you from getting into my knickers? Is that it?”

Douglas recoiled, frowning. “What? No-”

“Because that’s it, isn’t it Douglas? That has to be it! There’s no bloody way you’d ever go for someone like me without it of course being about sex!”

“It’s not about sex,” Douglas protested but Martin couldn’t hear it past the furious thumping of her heart.

“Yes it is! That’s what bloody got us in this mess! You’d never look twice at- at...at someone like me.” Her voice thickened as she found it harder to force the words out, the fire dying in her veins. She felt tired, incredibly so, and wanted nothing more than for him to just leave. “I’m not...I’m not one of those women- w-with their legs up to their tits and who just...who just swoon for you. A-and fine I might’ve felt something but...but I refuse to let that get in the way of anything. I don’t want to be one of your conquests Douglas- you don’t even like me! It’s just...it’s just another fucking shag to you.”

She stopped, feeling the breath leave her, exhausted with arguing, with all of this. Against her best wishes to ignore it, to hide it away in a ratty, old box on the shelves of her mind, it hurt. It hurt knowing that Douglas couldn’t really be interested in her, knowing that even now, she was still probably not good enough.

Martin realised a moment later that Douglas hadn’t spoken, said nothing after her little tirade, gazing at her, expression carefully blank.

“Martin...” He started, his brow furrowed, lips tilted downward. It didn’t look right, seeing such a vague expression on the man. He looked confused, something wholly alien to both him and Martin, so used to seeing Douglas unaffected by anything, aloof to all. It was almost wrong. “That’s not...”

“Please,” Martin cut in pithily. “Just...leave it. Just leave it.”

She stared resolutely ahead, fingers curling into tight fists as she kept her gaze firmly away from him.

Douglas shuffled forward and Martin moved away from the door, all without a single glance exchanged.

“Fine.”

And he left.


	3. Chapter 3

It went unsaid that the next week passed with infinite hellish ardour. The devil himself had gotten quite thoroughly off on Martin’s torment because it was nothing short of complete misery. An awkward couple of days for the most terribly awkward situation and it seemed fair for the equation to weigh itself out in such an aspect.

Martin could not expect anything less really; for things to suddenly switch back to normal, or whatever it was that vaguely resembled normalcy, with also little to no reference to what had happen, would have certainly been nice, if not a far cry from reality. Notwithstanding the fact that she simply wasn’t that lucky. Things did eventually, contrary to previous thought, smooth out into something distantly akin to the cracked sort of familiarity you didn’t dare scrutinise. By the third flight both Martin and Douglas had reached some common ground, finding a crass sort of pleasure in Carolyn’s misfortune with the bookings, and exasperation with Arthur’s tiring, but annoyingly catchy, rendition of the Muppet’s theme tune.

Needless to say, the sudden balancing out between politeness and mild pique, left Martin in a rather jovial mood, humming idly under her breath as she filled in the logbooks.

“Doo doo do do do mahna mahna...”

“Oh not you too Martin!”

She ducked her head, hiding the grin pulling at her lips as she scribbled her notes down quickly, her hand cramping at the slight force. “Blame Arthur.”

Douglas snorted. “Oh there’s a fair amount I already blame him for, this is nothing new.”

They were better like this, Martin thought, skirting around the problem and discarding it as far away as possible, as if nothing had happened. Most likely, it wasn’t the healthiest method of dealing with such things, repression generally wasn’t. But it helped nonetheless and that itself was better than nothing.

“It’s certainly better than when he had the Postman Pat theme tune stuck in his head,” Martin quipped, closing her log book and reaching for one of the flight forms to complete. Throughout the hour or so, she didn’t allow herself to question Douglas’ motives for being present, why he was in fact sitting next to her as right as rain, scribbling in his logbook with such familiarity, a stranger would’ve believed this man was a diligent model for flight protocol. It was an odd sight, definitely, but one Martin couldn’t help but welcome slightly. Perhaps this was his version of an apology, repentance for his actions, not that Martin had ever assumed the man could even grasp the concept of his misjudgements.

“He sung that one wrong too.”

Martin smiled. “He’s certainly a marvel.”

Douglas hummed in agreement, his lips curling into a grin. “Isn’t he just?”

They sat quietly, listening to the faint scratching of pen against paper, almost inaudible breaths as the silence stretched and ached in the room. And though it wasn’t as awkward as it had every right to be, Martin still squirmed to break it, to find her mental ice pick and smash the frost icing in the spaces between them. She was, in every sense of the word, extremely thankful for the peace descending upon their somewhat morphed friendship, the silent but mutual agreement that and reference toward the last week or so would be reduced to a nil.

At least, that’s what she initially assumed.

After a moment, she chanced a glance toward Douglas, masking the gesture with what little hope she had, as an attempt to brush a curl aside as she tried to gauge just what could have been running through his mind. But her poorly veiled attempt at nonchalance only met dark brown eyes, carefully devoid of expression as they watched her silently.

Martin blinked, unable to think of what else to do.

“Uhm...” She would admit to a little uncertainty as to what exactly to say in a situation as dire as this. At the present time however, it was so unbelievably awkward, she thought with no little amount of panic, that her heart would seize up and jump into her throat in a selfless bid to choke the woman before she could say anything remotely stupid. A coup de grace if nothing else.

 _Bloody hell._

 _You’re telling me._

She barely resisted the urge to wince. “Is everything alright?”

Douglas looked surprisingly thoughtful for a moment, the lines around his eyes softening just so before his brow creased into a frown, the picture, much to Martins astonishment, of complete sincerity.

Needless to say, it was slightly unnerving.

“Douglas-?”

“I’m sorry.”

Martin blinked again. To say she was dumfounded would have been an understatement. “Sorry?”

Douglas looked uncomfortable but held her gaze. “Yes, I’m sorry. For before. It was...inexcusable.”

She didn’t need to ask what he was referring to, it was as clear as day in her mind. But she did find herself at a momentary loss for what to say, a little more than just befuddled, if she was completely honest, with Douglas’ recent admission. Douglas, this offhand, frightfully blasé man who walked through life with little to almost no care for consequences unrelated to his own, had suddenly apologised to her. _Her._

Martin Creiff.

 _He never apologises to me_ , she thought dazedly, trying to rack her mind for something articulate and wholly suitable to say in return. But what? She found herself on the cusp of indecision, fighting the urge to bat the apology away with the British stoicism she applied to most things, and began to falter mentally for words.

Douglas seemed to be waiting for something, for an answer or reaction, and discomfort passed over his face, flittering briefly. Martin wondered briefly is she should have called him up on it before realising there was really only one thing to set both their minds, and this terribly uncomfortable situation, at ease.

She nodded, fingers tensing around her pen as she licked her lips nervously. “Right...well...thank you.”

Douglas eyed her for a moment, seemingly weighing up her reaction before nodding, eyebrows raised softly. They stared at one another, neither willing to back down, both a little more than just relived things could finally go back to normal. Douglas turned, disregarding his logbook, although it was of no surprise, and reached into his bag, extracting a deck of cards.

He smiled at Martin and she found herself, funnily enough, reciprocating the gesture. “Game?”

She looked at her forms, listening to the swift shuffle of the deck before shrugging. “Alright.”

And if she felt lighter, as if a weight had suddenly lifted off her chest, and that tediously fickle knot unravelled in her gut, she didn’t say.

She didn’t really need to.

 _A/N- Man this is getting long. Sigh. Why can't they just do as I say and get it on already?? :P Anyway, more will be up soon! Hope you're enjoying it! <3_


	4. Chapter 4

Things had eventually, and rather thankfully in Martin’s opinion, shifted back to the state of warped, but satisfactory, normalcy both she and Douglas entertained well together. It wasn’t perfect, but neither were they in any position to complain, merely grateful for the opportunity to put behind the unsettling situation they once allowed themselves into.

Martin finally found herself content, or as content as she could be, which wasn’t much truthfully, with her life, and in that, her friendship with Douglas. And this would have been true had Martin did herself some favours rather than contemplating what _might’ve_ been a rather decent shag if she had let Douglas have his wicked way with her.

Although on that thought, Martin came to the sudden but not wholly unpredictable realisation that perhaps all wasn’t as well as she had hoped.

 _Bloody buggering hell._

Even then things couldn’t be just fine. Fine of course being the not quite accurate abbreviation for completely and whole heartedly fucked. And not in the good way. The thought was there, that silent “what if?” plaguing the back of her mind like a closeted banshee, or the boogieman waiting to pounce on whatever left of the woman’s childish virtue when she was the least suspecting. It wasn’t a nice feeling at all.

But things were done now. Done and dusted, forgotten. They were over it.

Except despite this little nugget of confirmation lurking away in the forefront of Martin’s mind, it had neither the power nor will to stop the dreaded “what if?” rising again. It did not stop the visions, the images and scenes of the two of them in conversation, edging closer as a product of her overactive and rather depressed imagination. It did not stop her laughing gently, replying to Douglas’ question of whether it would be a good time to kiss her now, when the images got the best of her deep in the night when she didn’t realise she wasn’t sleeping. When she’d realise moments later Douglas wasn’t really there, and they weren’t in a haggard, old hotel Carolyn’s booked them in, and he really wasn’t going to kiss her.

And it was moments like those that really took the biscuit. That made her think and reconsider the thought that she could be completely over it.

But how could she be? Honestly? Douglas had rather evilly, if she might add, pushed the idea onto her. Had opened the door that she had made a point in the beginnings of their work-slash-adventures-slash- fun but a bit more than just crappy friendship, to keep closed.

And he was a complete clot for doing so.

Now, Martin didn’t know if she was coming or going, if this, whatever _this_ could be defined as, was something more than just a brief and rather stupid stint in their relationship as colleagues and maybe friends.

It was, she finally considered with complete ease and affirmation, fucking rubbish.

Even more so when she looked up from her frighteningly pink cocktail, which she cradled lovingly after retreating to the hotel bar from a rather spectacularly awful evening, to see- _lo and behold and honestly could it really be anyone else?_ \- Douglas bloody Richardson staring at her with those annoyingly, lovely eyes.

 _Really, they should be illegal._

 _How can anyone get anything done with those staring at you? Especially when you’re trying to drink yourself into a stupor._

“Ah Martin.” It was short and sweet but just enough to convey what Douglas could have really been thinking. _Drinking are we? Oh tut tut Martin, is that desperation I smell?_

Of course this was another by-product of Martins overactive and rather depressed imagination.

Martin could feel the voice in her head perfectly, as smarmy and cutting as ever.

 _Will you please shut up for once? I really don’t need this!_

 _Neither did you need those drinks but you still drank them._

She smiled tightly, blinking to try and focus her attention on the man staring down at her. “Hello Douglas.” The words wobbled a bit, quivering toward the edge as they drunkenly tiptoed over each other. Douglas looked amused for a moment, the way he usually did when he thought of something particularly humorous about Martin to comment on, before arching an eyebrow at the alcoholic concoction she was currently cradling.

“Rather bright isn’t it?”

Martin beamed and took another shaky sip, fearing that the absolute nonchalance she tried to radiate was falling short. “Works like a charm though.” And it really did.

Douglas nodded, smiling placidly before taking a seat beside her on the table. “Not waiting for anyone are we?”

She didn’t know whether or not to be surprised by this, if Douglas really knew anything or was purposefully fishing for information- although as to why escaped Martin. Instead of trying to unravel and work out just how the man knew, her immense irritation and embarrassment at the mere suggestion, distracted her to the point of flustered panic. It was nature for her to deny. Deny without thinking and then recall and revaluate later upon her actions. It wasn’t, by far, the soundest of methods to apply to life and did in fact land her in quite a bit of trouble most of the time, but it was drilled so finely within her, doing anything other than bluster around like a headless chicken seemed preposterous.

“No!” She laughed, feeling flustered and nervous in equal measure as she tried to cast the notion off. It didn’t work though, Douglas’ rather irritatingly, pleased smile told otherwise. “Why would you think that?”

Douglas shrugged casually, his eyes scanning the dingy bar Martin resided in with an air of indifference. It was so typical of the man though, so like him to remain completely and resolutely unaffected by anything, that she found herself suddenly unable to care a jot, swirling her pinky finger in the pink drink to try and see if she could whirl up a storm in it.

“Oh no reason, just that Arthur mentioned something about a date.”

 _Ah._

 _Arthur, of course._

“Date hmm? What with Arthur?” Distract him; that was the new plan. To distract Douglas with something so completely implausible his head would explode with befuddlement.

“Not my date,” Douglas replied, eyes fixed on her drink, which still bore the brunt of Martin’s vigorous pinky swirling. “Yours apparently.”

She wanted to reply soundly and eloquently. To come up with an answer so superficially fluent and impressive, Douglas would have been able to do nothing but gawk aimlessly and wish he’d been nicer to her from the start. Unfortunately however, Martin’s brain, of course addled with the mind numbing, cell destroying, liver kicking alcoholic concoction she was knocking back with ease, decided to take a wholly different approach and giggle stupidly at the thought of Arthur and Douglas canoodling together.

Douglas quite apparently, did not get this. “What are you smiling at?” he asked without the barest hint of suspicion.

Martin beamed stupidly and fished out the neon coloured cherry attached to the cocktail stick, sucking on it aimlessly. “Nufing.” Her lips smacked around the fruit, words stumbling around it as she fought, rather unsuccessfully to keep the giggles at bay. If she had skipped out on that last cocktail, chose sobriety rather than sheer mindless intoxication, she would have noticed the way Douglas’ eyes drew to her mouth, the cocktail stick balanced askew between her lips. Unfortunately however, she wasn’t, and thus the occurrence went sadly and if not a little bit ironically, unnoticed.

“May I be so bold as to ask why you seem intent on drinking yourself into a ditch rather than enjoy the company of your esteemed date?” Douglas enquired, rapping his fingers on the table. Martin wanted to ask if he wanted a drink, maybe an orange juice- it would have only been polite- but thought against it, turning back to stare into her own glass uncomfortably.

That was the problem with the combination of alcohol and Martin; together they did not bode well. Specifically speaking alcohol didn’t bode well with any sort of person but Martin especially. For when she drank, her brain was reduced to mush, even more so than Arthur who once took it upon himself, after accidently consuming a rather heroic amount of Polish vodka in Krakow, to try and sing the Muppets theme tune in the language, which of course did not fall down well with the rest of the restaurant. In this case for Martin, her brain was reduced to the consistency of a sieve.

Which was of course wonderful for Douglas. Just perhaps not for Martin herself.

“Not very esteemed I’m afraid, First officer...” She sighed wistfully, twirling her glass before downing the rest in one go. It didn’t go well at all, that is if one assumed it was a _date_ to begin with. It might’ve been if they even liked each other but of course, neither were interested enough to make a required effort. Thus if it all fell flat, Martin was happy in the knowledge that it wasn’t entirely her fault.

“Oh?” Douglas murmured. “And why not, if I might ask?”

Martin smiled floppily, trailing a finger around the edge of her glass. “He was a bit of a knob really. I mean you can’t really have a proper date in another country can you? It’s more coincidence than anything- honestly, whatever Arthur told you was probably wrong.”

“Most likely yes,” He conceded. “So who was the particularly knobbish fellow?”

“Captain Peter Aldan from Air England,” Martin hummed, resting her head on her palm. “Bit odd but I just bumped into him over here, must have the same plan or something, and he suggested we grab a drink and here I am.” She gestured to herself, her movements sluggish, mood rapidly decreasing as she realised belatedly that confiding in Douglas of all people about her spectacularly bad romantic endeavours once again, was in all probably not the wisest of moves.

Douglas looked positively scandalised for a moment there. “Peter? _Peter Aldan_?”

Martin was confused. “Yes Peter. Peter...Yep I think his name was Peter...”

“Well of course it was a flop, he’s a complete idiot!”

Martin rolled her eyes and waved her finger at him. “Ah! But you’d say that wouldn’t you Dougy darling? Coz he’s got your job.”

There was a pause as they each stopped to contemplate the words, Douglas coolly retracting his gaze back toward the empty glasses on Martin’s table and Martin awkwardly staring off into the distance, trying to drunkenly figure out a way to create a time machine and stop herself from saying that.

 _You idiot_.

“You know,” Douglas finally started, the awkward silence between them dispersing. “I found that in rather poor taste.”

Martin winced. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

“Do you though?”

Douglas looked pensive. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. Since this all started, Martin found herself suddenly without the ability to make sense of anything. Even with Peter, she wasn’t really all that interested. And neither, she suspected with surprisingly little care, was he. Yes he was a bit of a knob, maybe even more so than she originally thought, but that didn’t stop the fact that she had agreed to meet up in the first place.

Why? Because she was lonely?

Or maybe it was because she didn’t have anything better to do with her night?

“No go on,” Douglas pressed. “Tell me.”

 _Should I though?_

 _Don’t you even think about it! This is exactly the sort of thing that got us in this mess in the first place!_

“It’s just that-”

 _Why won’t you ever listen to me?!_

“-Well...” She continued, slightly unsure, unable to meet his eyes. “Nothing...it’s nothing.”

After a moment, she chanced a glance up, meeting Douglas’ own stare, which seemed firmly fixed on her. He looked thoughtful, brow furrowed in his customary arched look of contemplation. It was like him to remain so calm, even during the most awkward of moments and Martin really had to hand it to him, envious of his unflappable composure.

“You know,” he finally said after a moment, eyes pinned to Martin. “My mother’ name was Phyllis.”

That caught her attention. She looked up, surprised. Douglas canted an eyebrow, his lips pulling up a personal little quirk. “Why are you telling me this?”

Douglas shrugged. “Thought you might like to know.” He was teasing now.

“ _Douglas._ ”

“Fine. My father called her Phil. In fact-” He looked away and they spent a moment watching the rest of the bar, the faint drone of chatter buzzing in the air. “They all did really, the family. I never really understood why.”

Martin frowned in bemusement, feeling that foggy cloud, a product of the one too many cocktails, swirl nauseatingly whenever she tried to think. “Really?”

“No fault of my own,” Douglas added, rolling his eyes. “I was young. In any case, she told me it didn’t matter what I thought, it was just a name.”

“Right...” Martin hesitated, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “And the moral of that story is?”

Douglas snorted. “Of course if ma’am would let me get to it rather than add her own wry commentary to the tale.”

“Alright, alright go on.” She nudged his arm and he rolled his eyes, watching another couple argue not so discreetly in the far corner of the bar.

“There is no moral, not really,” he commented in an afterthought, as if only finally considering it. “It didn’t matter, her name. She was really rather beautiful despite it. In fact she told me quite bluntly to stop being so stupid about it.”

“Really? Why what did you think of it?”

“Well nothing, it was just a name. I think when I finally realised that her name was Phil and not in fact mother dearest, I was a bit confused. But then again, I must have been five. That we never really saw eye to eye on anything, so it wouldn’t have mattered.”

Martin thought about this, chewing on her lip before asking rather hesitantly. “And...why did you tell me this?” For she didn’t, in fact, know.

Douglas was quiet, staring thoughtfully at the couple raging at each other silently with their heated glares, the drunken laughter of raucous men and wistful sighs of the singletons. It wasn’t specifically anything special; an image both Martin and Douglas found themselves staring at all too frequently in their line of work. This time was no different and yet, it engrossed them, captured their attention as they tried to nurse the lingering awkward state of their friendship into something less likely to kill them both.

In the end, Douglas tore his gaze away, chocolate brown irises meeting Martin’s, who was a little more than just unnerved at this point. He raised his brows loftily, sighing in drawn resignation before gesturing his shoulders in the perfect, Douglas Richardson shrug of indifference.

“Not quite sure myself. But Martin’s just a name at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter all that much. And everything else you said that day.” His voice grew low, quieter as his eyes flitted away in discomfort. “About you not fitting the esteemed Richardson requirements. It’s all a load of bollocks.”

She frowned, slightly taken aback at the sudden proclamation, and a little indignant, although for what reason escaped her momentarily. “Hey-”

“Because really,” Douglas continued, cutting her off. He was still looking away, his gaze averted as a tongue came to swipe quickly over his lips and his fingers hammered quickly on the table. Martin suddenly realised, with no little sense of astonishment, that Douglas was in fact quite spectacularly nervous.

Nervous.

Douglas Richardson.

 _Nervous._

She never believed such a word could be associated with a man too smooth for his own good but found herself pleasantly proved wrong. _Thank god for that._

“I think you’re really quite beautiful. With or without the E on the end of your name... Or legs, as you so eloquently put it, that go up to your tits.” Douglas finally and graciously turned his eyes toward Martin, so wide and, much to her surprise, sincere.

She felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart stammer slightly against her ribcage as she fought to try and process his words. That door, the one she held shut with a lock and key was straining now, fighting to break free and she could see herself losing in this battle. But did she want to?

Could she really trust him?

Martin didn’t know if it was a ruse or not, this nervous, discomforted image of Douglas confessing something so...so inane, in her opinion. But looking at him, at those eyes, the very same that stared at her all through rollercoaster they were on, she could not help but want to believe him. If he was lying then fine, there really was nothing worth pursuing there. But if he wasn’t...if he really meant-

“I...” she started, cutting her thoughts off. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, throat constricting and she didn’t know if it was the effects of the alcohol making her head swim or the sheer giddy pleasure at Douglas’ admission. “That’s...probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Douglas looked pained for a moment before sighing, face relaxing into a lazy grin. “And they say the truth hurts.”

Martin laughed with him until they were both grinning stupidly, shoulders bumping gently. “You know,” she started, her words just that bit slurred. “I am rather drunk.”

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “I gathered.”

“Right. Very drunk in fact so...you know, might have to-”

“Martin please!” Douglas chastised, feigning offence. “I am nothing if not a gentleman at heart.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh good. That’s good... Just so you know though, we’ll probably have to have this conversation again tomorrow morning.”

“Perfectly fine.”

“You know, word for word, so I haven’t missed anything.”

“But of course.”

“After you buy me breakfast.”

“As you wish, I am after all, not the one going to be nursing that rather awful hangover.”

Martin rolled her eyes and tapped her fingers on the table, resolutely trying not to meet Douglas’ smile and failing. “Good.”

And to prove it, she ordered herself another frighteningly pink cocktail and Douglas his orange juice.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Sorry it took so long to update! ^^; I'm planning on making the next chapter the last one and finally *drum roll* we get porn! XD
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like it and comments are the rainbow flavoured brilliancy that fuels us writers! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's late and I'm so sorry for that. But here have more! Also, you'll see that it's not the last chapter like I thought it would be. I have a few more to go before this is finished but I have the time and means so hopefully the few readers I have left won't have to wait so long. :)

The following morning arrived far too quickly for Martin’s addled mind to adjust, now sporting a rather nasty hangover that didn’t seem fair for only three cocktails. Cocktails she neither knew the name of, or the content, blissfully ignorant so long as the bartender continued to deliver whatever it was making her feel so pleasantly fuzzy. 

The habitual morning ritual was disturbed, instead of waking silently with exasperated awareness; she awoke feeling both disorientated and nauseous. Her lids refused to budge, gunk clinging to her lashes, mouth furry and stale, which did little to welcome her lovingly into the day. 

Taking all this into consideration, it begged the question, what happened last night? Alcohol was involved, that much was easily discernible by her protesting liver, which was currently kicking her gut in for retribution. She groaned and rolled over, burying herself further beneath the thin, scratchy duvet, nose nuzzling the starched cotton as she sought either sleep or memory. Both however seemed as elusive as each other at that moment, leaving her feeling inexorably confused and too tired to bother contemplating anything further. 

Something did happen though. Martin could feel it. Beneath the lethargic fatigue, and the lazy consciousness she felt when hovering somewhere between sleep and restlessness, she knew something had happened. It lingered in the back of her mind, a dim, guttural flame flickering for thought. But what-

_What was it?_

_Think!_

And with the speed of a bullet train colliding nose first into her mind, her brain crashed forward into the wall of realisation fast enough to cause whiplash. She remembered. 

By god did she remember. 

And remembering was not good. Not at all. Not now. 

She could recall, with no fathomable amount of chagrin, why drinking herself into a stupor was never a good idea. Especially to this extent. And in another country to boot. 

Not to mention to the point of no return. It was the most spectacularly awful idea and yet-

_And yet why...?_

_Why did she do it?_

_Yes, why **did** you do it?_

Thinking seemed painful though, her temples throbbing insistently, shrilling loudly as they laughed at her- _Bwahaha!_ Her imagination, as swamped as it was with the aftermath of three frightfully pink cocktails (and maybe a few G &Ts to wash it down but she couldn’t be sure), did not lack in exaggeration. The best course of action Martin finally felt, concluding thusly that if this didn’t work, then death most certainly would, was to turn around, close her eyes and pretend nothing had happened. 

Because as far as she knew, half asleep and wriggling against the bed sheets which scratched irritatingly at her skin, nothing _did_ happen. 

Douglas just...happened to be there. And yes, while drinking herself stupid in front of her filthily smug, yet strangely pleasant First Officer, was never a good idea, for some inexplicable reason, it seemed perfectly fine yesterday. Which wasn’t as reassuring as she liked to think. 

Martin blinked fuzzily at the wall opposite, vision blurred slightly with sleep, and thought to herself quietly. Douglas. Why Douglas? The one man that would ensure doing anything like this in front of again would be the most poorly made decision in all disastrous proportions. 

_Think about it. You’re still a little drunk and extremely hung over. All the while having no steady recollection of anything last night, least of all if you and your rather dashing First Officer did the dirty in this very bed. Which would be nice, mind you, but a rather catastrophically crappy idea._

_Oh god._

Martin closed her eyes, feeling rather faint, and groaned. “Oh god.”

“Ah, finally up are we?”

“Jesus bloody-”

For future posterity, when whoever inane enough decides to ask what Martin did that very moment, she will rebuke eloquently with the plain facts- that she did nothing save calmly enquire why Douglas was in that very room with her. Of course in truth, everyone would know such a feat was almost physically impossible for the woman, the definition of calm repelling that of the definition of Martin- a highly strung, anxiety prone woman who did not enquire calmly as she hoped she did, but sprang up in surprise and promptly fell out of bed. 

“Alright there Martin?” Douglas cocked his head from his position by the chair, holding two mugs. 

“Yes thank you,” she replied, face muffled by the flimsy duvet draped haphazardly across her form. “Quite alright.”

Douglas smiled. “Jolly good. Now if you’ll so kindly sit up, I’ve brought you a present in the form of two pills and a crushed South American stimulant with water and milk.”

“I hope you mean coffee. Please mean coffee.”

“No I’ve just mixed cocaine with water and milk for you. Hope that’s alright.”

Martin paused for a moment, befuddled. “I’m fairly certain cocaine doesn’t come from America,” she replied dazedly. 

“And I’m fairly certain it does. In any case, I did not unfortunately bring you cocaine but instead coffee. I’m sure you’ll make do.” 

Martin only realised then that she was still, rather embarrassingly, lying on the floor, blinking torpidly at the yellowing ceiling. The paint was beginning to crack in the corners of the flimsy room, a water mark and a few dark spots of damp littering the off-white like grey, smudgy stars. Douglas loomed above her, a faint smirk playing on the edges of his lips, his eyes glinting down in amusement. She blinked at him, still feeling somewhat dazed before pulling herself into a seated position and tucking the duvet snugly around her body. 

Martin squinted at Douglas’ hand. “Are those painkillers?” 

“Indeed they are. Ibuprofen.”

She held out her hand, palm facing upward, fingers beckoning. “Hand them over and I won’t hurt you.”

“I must be showing my age,” Douglas commented wryly, an eyebrow cocked archly. “Because as far as I knew it, people usually said thank you.” Nevertheless, he dropped the tiny pills into her hand and Martin smiled gratefully, swallowing them with a scalding gulp of coffee. She winced, scrubbing her hand down her face and groaning into her fingers, which smelt oddly of lime. 

_What the hell happened last night?_

“Please tell me there weren’t any tequila shots.” 

Douglas chuckled, perching himself on the bed as he stared at her with those dark, impassive eyes. They were unbelievable sometimes, Martin mused, feeling the thought stir quietly in the back of her befuddled mind. Unfathomable, impossible. She found herself unsurprisingly lost in them, tracing the flecks of white light that glinted back at her, the pink blemishes under his lids, the lines tracing down. She caught herself staring now and glanced away quickly, mapping the damp spots creeping up the corners of the walls. 

“No tequila I’m afraid. To be fair you were already halfway gone when I saw you, so god only knows what you were pouring down your gullet before.” 

“Yeah thanks for that,” Martin muttered, her fingers twisting together. The hairs on her arms stood on end, stomach contracting as her nerves shivered. She tried to recall what happened last night, tried to bring forth the snapshots of her day but succeeded only faintly before realising most of it passed by in a blur. Everything seemed so out of focus and that... _frightened_ her. 

Eventually, she crumpled. “What happened last night?” She blurted suddenly, watching the vague surprise in Douglas’ eyes dart forward before vanishing in a glimmer. “I...I can’t remember.”

“I’m not surprised,” he snorted in return, hands fiddling with the bed sheets, smoothing out a crease. 

Martin glared at him. “I don’t need this right now Douglas.” She brought the duvet up, wrapping it around her head and body so she was snug, face visible as her eyes burnt fiery holes into the man. Douglas watched her, his lips twitching, threatening to uncoil in a smirk that would have been poorly misplaced for the moment. 

“You look like a twit.” He was grinning. _I hate him._

“You look like a smarmy git. Oh wait that’s you every day.”

“Ouch. Fell out of the wrong side of the bed did we?”

Martin scowled and took another gulp of coffee, which was almost tepid now, tasting bitter and oddly smoky. She smacked her lips together and scooted back until she was resting against the wall, coiling tighter like a cottony caterpillar. Douglas was still smiling. Why was he doing that? 

“You’re not nice,” Martin mumbled eventually, feeling tired and petulant. Her head throbbed insistently, chiming for attention, in reprisal probably for drowning herself in potato juice. “I need sympathy.”

Douglas sighed. “No, what you need is a shower, some breakfast, and a bit more sleep.”

She didn’t want to know why Douglas was suitably avoiding an explanation for last night. She didn’t know if he was avoiding it purposefully or if he had just forgotten she’d asked anything. Bits came to her in slow flashes, still shots of her date ( _What a train wreck that was_ ), sitting at a bar, glass in hand. She saw Douglas, they spoke about something. What though? There was no audio to any of it; she saw but could not hear, did not know or recall with any sure amount of conviction the important things, the things that mattered. Like what she said to Douglas. Or if Douglas had said anything to her. 

Did he? 

_Do you want him to?_

_I..._ Of course she didn’t. It didn’t matter did it? Any of it with him. It was nothing... _I don’t know._

_I don’t know._

Nowadays, there seemed little she did know. And that was worrying, if not depressingly unsurprising. 

She mumbled into the duvet, her voice muffled by the starchy cotton. “A shower sounds nice...”

“I’m under good authority that the bathroom isn’t too bad as well.”

Her eyes widened, blinking owlishly up at Douglas in mild surprise. “Wait- did you...? I-I mean...How would you know that?” 

An eyebrow arched. “What exactly are you asking?” His lips fluttered, not quite a smile but neither a grimace. Martin couldn’t remember the last time she saw him so faltering, before realising she never had. It was nothing short of worrying.

She bit her lip, chewing it as her hands pulled closer around her, the duvet almost stifling. “I mean....” She sucked in a deep breath, feeling her chest tighten before exhaling in a quick burst of air, choking slightly. “I-I mean...Did you stay over last night?”

There was a mild silence, stricken as it wavered through the air. They were uncomfortable, staring at each other with a vague sense of perplexity. Douglas gazed at her, unblinking with those immeasurable eyes and it was irritating to find herself once again so caught by them. 

Martin felt her stomach tighten, feeling queasy. 

Douglas cleared his throat. “I did stay over,” he started, Martin’s heart racing at the admission. “Over there.” He made a vague gesture with his hand toward the flimsy futon in the corner of the room. “Hands kept firmly to myself, you’ll be reassured to know.”

_Reassured. Yes._

Martin felt her cheeks flame. “Right well...that’s good to know. I think.”

“If I might ask, what is it you do remember?” Douglas’ brows pulled together in a frown, the lines around his eyes crinkling. Martin groaned, folding herself forward and burying her face into her arms, coiled tightly a sausage. 

“Not much,” she grumbled. “It’s all a bit blank.”

The quilt muffled everything and she pulled it tighter over her head, stifled to movement. She missed the slight shuffle in the room before she felt Douglas bump beside her, legs outstretched and back pressed against the dingy wall. Martin straightened up, their shoulders pressed together as she glanced at him. 

“You look like an Eskimo,” Douglas commented, smiling wryly. Martin’s lips quivered into a slight smile, wobbling gently. 

“I was going for a caterpillar or something.”

“Going to turn into a butterfly then?”

Martin’s smile wavered into a sad grin. “More of a moth I think.”

She could feel Douglas’ eyes on her, staring as they tried to burrow themselves under her skin. Her heart thumped loudly, squirming under his rapt attention and she ducked her head, clearing her throat. “S-so...are you going to tell me what happened yesterday? Please?”

Douglas was quiet for a moment, eyes ahead, pinned on the peeking white light behind the flimsy moth eaten curtains. “Well, because you asked so nicely. You had a date-”

“I remember that bit. Just after that.”

“I found you at the bar. And that’s about it. I brought you up to bed but Arthur was already sleeping and he had the keys so I kipped on the futon.”

_Was that it?_

_No, can’t be. Something else must have happened._

Martin bit her lip, worrying it as she wracked her mind for anything else she thought she missed. 

“Didn’t we...” She frowned at him. “Did we...?”

Douglas’ eyebrow arched, inquisitive as ever. “Did we...?”

“I don’t know,” Martin said, feeling embarrassed. “Talk? I don’t know, I think I’m missing something.”

“Nothing new there.”

_“Douglas.”_

“Look, we had a very pleasant conversation about nothing in particular and I vaguely remember promising you breakfast. That was it. And once you’re dressed, I fully intend to follow through with that promise.” He paused. “That is, if you still want breakfast, of course.”

Martin hesitated, bewildered in some sense. It was almost as if they had somehow shifted into something else entirely. Something had changed between them, morphed into a strange sort of companionship that Martin never seemed to understand before. They were friends, yes, colleagues. This however suggested the scope for something more, something different. What that something was, Martin didn’t know. She was afraid to guess. 

_Was this...?_

_No._

Douglas looked at her strangely, waiting perhaps for her answer, and Martin took a moment to realise it wasn’t a statement, but a rather tentative question. 

She flushed, from her hairline to the tips of her toes. 

“It...” She started, wetting her dry lips with a swipe of tongue. Douglas’ eyes followed greedily and she felt her stomach coil pleasantly. “It wouldn’t really be breakfast would it? More of a brunch?”

Douglas’ lips quirked. “Ah but we settled for breakfast, didn’t we?” he drawled, his voice rumbling deliciously.

“Brunch could work just as good,” Martin muttered, trying to hold eye contact long enough before embarrassment took hold and pulled her eyes away. Douglas smiled, leaning in just a fraction, and Martin’s breath halted in her throat, caught petrified. _Oh god he’s going to kiss me._

_I haven’t even brushed my teeth!_

“Brunch it is then.” His eyes glimmered, a shred of light bouncing forth before retreating, rising to his feet, knees creaking. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Martin nodded, her lips tingling from the anticipation of touch. “Ok.”

“And don’t forget to brush your teeth, you reek.” 

And before she could come up with a suitably indignant reply, Douglas left with a saucy wink, the door closing with a soft thud behind him, leaving a rather mystified Martin still curled in her quilt like a sausage and feeling rather exasperated. 

****

It took no less than fifteen minutes for the woman to dress herself, brushing her teeth furiously while attempting to comb her fingers through her tangled curls, fanning out any noticeable knots into something if not alluring, beautiful or seductive, then at least presentable. She could almost remember the day she walked home after the trip to the hairdressers, her mother’s face of abject horror when she realised Martin’s curls were tucked tight above her ear rather than trailing beautifully bellow the shoulder like Caitlin’s did. It was almost funny, Martin mused idly, her mother’s complete dismay at her new look. _Dad found it hilarious though._

Appearance wise, Martin felt she looked as normal as ever, which wasn’t much mind you, but it just bordered the thin line of satisfaction one could feel before it descended worryingly into a dismal self conscious affair. Improvements could be made, Martin contemplated, trying to untangle her fringe and bush it into something respectable, but all women felt like that in some sense. Confidence was an exasperating, short lived notion that came and went. You either had or you didn’t. Martin sat firmly within the latter circle when it came to herself, but she never found herself within a situation to second guess it, to worry about it too much. Her previous relationships, although scarce, were not something she felt she really had to work for or at. There seemed little effort on both sides and although they were nice at the time, she never found herself looking back on them with a pang of regret. 

Douglas however-

Now, that was a different situation altogether.

Perhaps because in some way, Douglas turned out to be someone worth fighting for. Someone who made her stomach twist, her heart flutter like a trapped canary. One moment she was stunned by his salacious feats of wonder, whether procuring a particular fine and expensive wine, or wriggling MJN Air out of whatever disastrous situation either her, Arthur or Carolyn got them into, and the next moment she was infuriated beyond measure, irritated at his smug demeanour, at his “cat got the cream” attitude. And while she was perhaps more incensed with him then pleased, it did not alter the skewed and ridiculously squirmy feelings she _might_ have felt for him. Despite knowing that a relationship, or anything akin to one, with Douglas Richardson would be very, very misjudged. 

Martin stared at herself in the mirror of the dingy bathroom, tracing the flecks of watermarks with her eyes, and found herself wondering how she managed to get herself into this mess in the first place. 

_It’s your fault. I told you to stay away from the cheese. Was it worth it?_

She recalled the conversation, the kiss and the stolen glances between the two. She thought of the apology and her date and everything that wasn’t Douglas. The silent words and the awkward ones. The ones that made little sense and the ones that spoke diamonds. 

And then she thought, maybe it was worth it after all. 

But what? Where were they going? Were they even going anywhere at all? Since when did they become a “we”? 

_You’re thinking too much into this._

_I am._

_You need to stop for a bit._

_I should._

_Maybe skip brunch and give yourself some space._

There was a smudge of toothpaste on the corner of her lip and Martin reached up to smear it away, feeling suddenly rather nervous. Her cheeks felt pinched, the skin tightening as colour flooded them, her nerves rattling as she steeled a breath and left the bathroom. 

And despite her subconscious protesting, she grabbed her room keys and bag and left, hands clenching and unclenching as Douglas came to view, waiting in the lobby, fingers drumming idly on his thigh. He looked up, hearing footsteps and caught her gaze. 

“Ready?” He asked with a slight tilt to his lips. _Please stop doing that Douglas._

Martin’s stomach clenched and she responded with a fluttering smile that was more wobbly than demure. 

“Of course.”

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- More will come soon, I promise. I just want to thank everyone who's still reading and enjoying this, you guys are great. It really makes my day when I know someone out there likes my stuff *glows*. Thanks everyone! <3


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